


One Thousand Years and Three Months

by mem0



Series: Klelijah Translations [5]
Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms, The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Post S01, Slightly darkish, Translation, UST, not explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-23 04:25:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20236702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mem0/pseuds/mem0
Summary: Three months alone with Klaus pull all the darkest, most secret, and most deeply hidden things out of Elijah’s soul. Everything most carefully protected.Translation from the Russian (перевод с русского).





	One Thousand Years and Three Months

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Twenty_One_Grams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twenty_One_Grams/gifts).
  * A translation of [Тысяча лет и три месяца](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2464895) by [Twenty_One_Grams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twenty_One_Grams/pseuds/Twenty_One_Grams). 

Three months alone with Klaus is worse than the weeks in the coffin in the church’s attic, stained from foundations to rooftop in the blood of its unlucky novices, fallen prey to the witches. Three months alone with Klaus is worse than the hours, drawing out like years, with the damned magic blade in his chest, which spreads pain through his whole body, buried under the skin, inserted to death into the bone itself. Three months alone with Klaus is worse than one thousand years of endlessly chasing him and the slowly rotting remains of his reason.

It seems stupid and even a little funny, but throughout their too-long lives, they have never been really alone. Without at least someone else being nearby – whether Rebekah (please, protect yourself, sister, all our _hope _is with you), their father or mother, random people or less random vampires. Hayley, in the end. Hayley should, in fact, be here, should be warming the gloomy rooms, almost all the furniture in which is draped in disgusting white cloth, with her presence, but the wolf queen prefers to spend her time on four legs in chase of god knows what.

The wolf queen should have died, she _almost _died, and that near death broke Elijah’s heart, if he were to express himself with pithy sayings out of vulgar love stories. It struck him so powerfully that the desire previously living within him to lower a crown weaved together from forest twigs and watered with the blood of those unworthy of her unto Hayley’s head gave way to a different desire, burning disgustingly within him, to present her with a fresh heart on a plate and throw it at her face. Elijah cannot look calmly at Hayley: his own burning regret over the unrealized, and his own stupid illusions almost physically twist him inside out– how amusing, that after a thousand years he’s still capable of having illusions – and he looks to the other side.

He looks at Klaus.

At Klaus, who is always nearby: sixty seconds a minute, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. A progression cursed by god, a damnable closed circle, time trickling in heavy drops of water on the top of the head.

It drives Elijah crazy, just as Father Keeran was driven to the tomb by the witches’ hex. The only thing he can do is bite his own finger, and, spattering the floor with blood, crawl along the dilapidated wood boards to Klaus, extending the mutilated hand to him.

His brother’s persistent presence is simply impossible to bear, especially when the full moon shines mockingly in the sky. On such days, Klaus, weak, almost dying – if such a thing were possible – of lack of breath, is surprisingly pedantic in following his new habit, which makes Elijah want to howl at the top of his lungs.

His brother, barely standing on his own two legs, climbs into his bed every damned full moon. He comes into his room and crawls under the blanket fully-clothed – saying that he’s cold. His eyes are absolutely mad and crazed, his lips wet and his breathing heavy and hoarse, and his skin’s so _hot, _that Elijah allows himself to curse internally.

Klaus doesn’t do anything – nothing that Elijah subconsciously would like, which he would never admit to himself – he just lays nearby, face turned to Elijah and looking at him in a way that makes it seem as though something is starting to stir beneath his skin, crawl right through his flesh, aiming for the heart itself – to gnaw it open, devour it, destroy it. Goals worthy of Klaus himself.

Elijah hates those moments just as passionately as he waits for them. The abnormal, unnatural, completely unbrotherly distance between them leaves him feeling hot under his shirt and painfully tight in his pants, and he has no idea if Klaus notices, if he realizes what’s happening to his own brother, _what he does to his own brother. _

Over the course of one thousand years amongst men, Elijah has seen so much filth that he can no longer brand anything as perversity, but he is also incapable of calling his own, sticky, almost juvenile, arousal normal. Though he wishes he could. He, the one they call noble, wants, _craves _to press his own brother to the bed, bite at his neck, scratch at his spine, slake his thirst on his blood and moans. What irony.

They eat together – Elijah prepares barely cooked steaks, oozing blood, and they eat them, sitting across from each other at the long, wide table. Klaus tortures the meat with his teeth, licks his red-stained fingers clean and while he does so looks right into Elijah’s eyes, without turning away his gaze for a second, and smiling crookedly, satisfied. Like always. Elijah carefully cuts small pieces with his knife and guides them to his mouth, chewing slowly and carefully, and acting as though he is not at all watching how his brother licks off his own bloodied palm.

Klaus draws pictures worthy of an exhibit dedicated to artists with psychological abnormalities. Klaus doesn’t split hairs in his depictions of blood: he draws with the most genuine exemplar, his own – he bites his wrists and stains the brushes with the red liquid that bleeds out. He laughs, calls it medicinal art, proposes to sell it to vampires bitten by werewolves. Elijah tries very hard not to ask him to give it all to him, so that he could take those masterpieces of a sick mind with him when Klaus disappears next time. Well, or at least so that he could put them in some separate room, shut behind seven locks. Like a cursed treasure.

But Klaus doesn’t need any treasures. He doesn’t need expensive, perfectly ironed suits, or elegant ties. Give Klaus freedom, break the last wall of reason still holding him back in his head – and he will flood the streets of New Orleans in blood, while Elijah is still deciding what kind of golden cufflinks he will wear for the day.

They run out of food, and Elijah says that he needs to go into town, but Klaus only laughs in response, bites into his own hand for the umpteenth time and extends it to Elijah with a wide smile. He says: _drink, _persuades: _go on, brother, you know you want to, _asks: _please. _Elijah breaks on the “please” and bites into the torn vein, reveling in the taste that drives him mad. He sits on the couch while Klaus stands in front of him, sleeves of his black shirt rolled up, and Elijah unconsciously grips that shirt with one hand from the side, pulling Klaus closer to himself, and hears the other exhaling hoarsely and unevenly. Elijah catches the salty scent of another’s sweat and agitation and knows: that’s enough, this is too much, this has already gone beyond the acceptable. But Klaus puts a hot palm against his neck from behind, not allowing his retreat. Elijah wants to kill him for that, but since that’s impossible, the only thing left is for him to squeeze his teeth tighter, so that it really hurts. Klaus moans lowly and leans forward to meet him. Damned masochist.

Elijah abruptly tears away from his wrist and leaves the room, almost at a run. Klaus laughs after him.

Three months alone with Klaus is worth than anything else that has ever happened in Elijah’s life. It’s worse that the mountains of corpses surrounding him, it’s worse than Celeste’s glassy eyes, looking at him from under the smooth surface of the water. Because during the next, the final of the three full moons, Klaus, climbing again into his bed, slides a shaking – he really wants to think it’s not from physical weakness – hand under the blanket and puts his open palm between Elijah’s legs, lightly pressing against his already hard erection. And if Klaus had twisted his mouth into his usual smirk then everything would have been alright, but no – he watches Elijah seriously, even with some sort of fear, his mouth half-open in the expectation of a reaction. As though it’s not Klaus at all.

Elijah screws up his eyes, bites his lips and covers his brother’s fingers with his own, but not in order to push him away. He presses them tighter, and he thinks that’s enough to make him stain his pants, but Klaus goes on – Klaus presses lips, dry this time, into his shoulder, and starts to slowly, terribly slowly, move his hand.

Elijah wants to kill him again for that, but his death is still just as impossible as it was a few days before, and it will never become possible, no matter how much he wants it from time to time, and so, feeling how something frightening, almost terrible, starts to burn within him, he throws his hips up a bit to close the distance – closer, harder, _tighter. _

Three months alone with Klaus pull all the darkest, most secret, and most deeply hidden things out of Elijah’s soul. Everything most carefully protected.

Three months alone with Klaus break him down more strongly than one thousand years in chase of him.

Three months alone with Klaus is almost like death, small and fixated on their old home, stinking of dust and blood, and Elijah doesn’t want those three months to ever end.


End file.
